The term livingry was coined by Buckminster Fuller. I first came across the word while reading Bucky’s final great work Critical Path, a book that literally changed my life. I read the book in 1984, the year after Fuller died. When I finished reading the book I felt both discombobulated and inspired, my previous notions of reality and history blown to smithereens.
So I carefully read the first two-thirds of the book again, taking copious notes, and by the end of that weeks-long study I felt I understood the factual content and the metaphysical content of Critical Path. And I decided to follow Fuller’s dictates in terms of how to live my life as a human being devoted to the survival of our beloved spaceship earth.
*
At the conclusion of Critical Path, Buckminster Fuller said humanity is at a crucial moment in our evolution, a moment that will decide the fate of the planet and our species. We have come to the moment when the forces of livingry are on the verge of being overwhelmed by the forces of weaponry. If that happens, then Universe’s collaboration with humans will be over. Fuller believed Universe very much wants us to choose livingry over weaponry and create a thriving egalitarian and ecologically regenerative society, though he was not optimistic we would collectively make that choice.
Now as we watch in horror as a regime of criminals and thugs continues to demolish our government and terrorize our citizenry and the other nations of the world, I cannot help but see these ignorant amoral people as the forces of weaponry. And I cannot help but see the non-violent protestors against this tyranny as the forces of livingry.
What is livingry? Non-violence, generosity, compassion, equality, kindness, inventiveness, non-polluting regenerative energy sources and forms of transportation. (Bucky was adamant that nuclear power was not a solution to anything and that the nearest safe nuclear power plant to earth should remain our sun 93 million miles away.)
Weaponry is violence, greed, cruelty, ignorance, racism, misogyny, bombs, missiles, armies of killers, dishonesty, criminality, and a collective dependency on fossil fuels.
May we never forget those who have died and suffered for the cause of livingry, and may we, collectively, overcome the terrible forces of weaponry.
My last post is now out-of-date and I want to post something new. I’ve been working on a new book for some weeks now and I like how the story is unfolding. I’m upset about the terrible things our federal government is doing, but I don’t want to write about that because I don’t have anything helpful to say except… maybe one of the chapters of the book I’m writing will help. Somehow. This is a work-in-progress, not the final draft. Enjoy.
Children’s Stories
At ten minutes to nine on a freezing cold Saturday morning five days before Thanksgiving, Marlowe stands behind the counter at Wonderful Books and Things, picks up the store phone, and calls Diana Crawford, she who knits the wool caps and neck-warmers Marlowe sells hundreds of during the cold months in Portland.
“Diana,” says Marlowe after listening to Diana’s brief outgoing message. “Marlowe here. We sold your last cap yesterday and I’m wondering if we can expect more from you any time soon. I’ve called you three times in the last week and emailed you and texted you several times and gotten no response. I hope you’re okay. I’d rather not find a new source for wool caps, but I will if you can’t provide me with some soon. Please be in touch.”
At nine on the nose, after making a little growl of annoyance regarding Leon Sturges not showing up for work yet, Marlowe goes to unlock the front door where five people are waiting to come in from the cold, all of them Saturday morning regulars Marlowe greets by name.
At 9:30, the store quite busy, Marlowe calls Leon who is sometimes a few minutes late, but never this late. When Leon doesn’t answer his phone, Marlowe calls Leon’s wife Susan who answers immediately.
“Susan. Hi. It’s Marlowe. Is Leon…”
“He split yesterday,” says Susan, sobbing. “I should have called you. Sorry.”
“I’m so sorry,” says Marlowe, and after doing his best to console Susan he hangs up just as the air is rent by the terrible sound of Diana’s old car pulling up in front of the store, the hideous racket ceasing when Diana shuts off her engine.
“Marlowe, Marlowe, Marlowe,” she says, hurrying into the store with a cardboard box full of her knitted caps and neck-warmers, her hair blown every which way. “I didn’t get your message until last night when I got my phone service going again. Long story I won’t bore you with. Short version, I took the train to Oakland, knitting all the way, my sister loaned me some money, I took the train back, I won’t be evicted, I have a working phone again, and I’m thrilled you want more caps and neck warmers. I brought you thirty caps and fifteen neck warmers. Can we make this an outright purchase rather than consignment? Please? That will pay off what I owe you and you know you’ll sell them all now the artic weather has arrived.”
“Fine,” says Marlowe, giving her an inquisitive look. “Diana… you once told me you worked in a bookstore. Yes?”
“I did,” she says, surprised by his question. “Drago’s Books. In Oakland. For three years. I quit right before I moved here. Eleven years ago. They didn’t fire me. I was a great employee. They begged me to stay. Honestly.”
“I’m sure they did,” says Marlowe, clearing his throat. “I’m in need of part-time help. Interested?”
“Very,” she says breathlessly. “I’d love to work here. When would…”
“Now,” says Marlowe, matter-of-factly. “I’m reading to the children and then selling children’s books from ten to eleven-thirty and I need someone to tend the counter and help customers find books while I’m with the children and their parents.”
“Now is great,” says Diana, barely able to contain her excitement. “How much… what’s my hourly?”
“Seventeen an hour to start,” says Marlowe, gesturing for her to come around behind the counter. “After you’ve worked here for a few weeks, assuming you get a new muffler, we’ll raise you to nineteen an hour. Do you know how to use this kind of cash register?”
“Pretty much,” she says, frowning at the modern thing.
“Good. Let’s take you through a cash sale.” He hands her a book. “I’d like to buy this one.”
Diana opens the book, notes the price written in pencil in small neat numerals on the inside of the front cover, enters the price into the cash register, and taps the sales tax button. “That will be seven dollars and eighty-four cents, please. Would you like a bag?”
Marlowe hands her a ten-dollar bill, she hits the Sale button, and the cash drawer slides open. She gives him two dollars and sixteen cents in change and carefully puts the book and receipt in a bag.
“Excellent,” says Marlowe, noting her ease with the various aspects of the transaction. “Now write the name of the book and the price paid in the notebook there to the right of the cash register. The credit card machine is slide or tap and interacts with phones. You know how that works?”
“Kind of,” she says, nodding.
“Good. If you have the time, these three stacks of books need to be shelved in their appropriate places. I will be on the sofa next to Children’s Books for the next hour or so should you need me for anything. If anyone wants to sell books to us, tell them I’ll be available to assess their books after two.”
“Got it,” says Diana, taking a deep breath. “Do I have five minutes to get my coat and lock my car?”
“You have exactly five minutes,” says Marlowe, greatly relieved to have Diana working the counter while he is otherwise engaged.
*
An hour later, Marlowe is sitting on the largest of the store’s three sofas reading aloud from Winnie-the-Pooh. There are four little kids sitting on his right, four little kids on his left, seven kids sitting on the floor in front of him, and twenty adults standing in a semi-circle around the sofa, everyone enraptured by Marlowe’s performance.
“And that,” says Marlowe, closing the book, “is the end of the story and the end of story time.”
“Oh please read one more, Marlowe,” says a chubby seven-year-old boy sitting among those on the floor. “I missed the first one because we were late.”
“There’s always next Saturday, Gerard,” says Marlowe, standing up to take a bow in response to the generous applause.
“Bravo!” shouts an elderly man. “You missed your calling, Marlowe. You should have been an actor.”
“Never too late,” says the mother of one of the kids. “He’s still young.”
Now three-year-old Eileen, she who came trick-or-treating to Marlowe’s house dressed as a cowgirl, taps Marlowe’s hand and says something so quietly he can’t hear what she’s saying.
So he bends down and puts his ear close to her and asks, “What did you say, dear?”
She gazes wide-eyed at him and whispers, “I love Pooh.”
“Then you shall have the book,” says Marlowe, giving her the little old volume.
Eileen’s mother, lovely Maureen with the Irish brogue, hurries up to Marlowe and says, “Oh we already…”
Marlowe places a finger to his lips and Maureen falls silent.
“You may already have a copy of Winnie-the-Pooh,” he says, winking at her. “But not this copy from which the story I read came from.”
*
Following a laughter-filled half-hour recommending books to parents of excited children, Marlowe returns to the counter and finds Diana, her hair now gathered in a bun, putting two astrology books into a bag for a young woman with pink dreadlocks and many tattoos.
“Do let me know what you think of these,” says Diana to the young woman. “The Gregory especially opened my eyes to the enormous influence of the north node.”
“I will let you know,” says the young woman, turning to Marlowe and pointing at Diana, “She’s great.”
“An excellent review,” says Marlowe, coming around behind the counter. “How are we doing?”
“Quite well, I think,” says Diana, consulting the notebook next to the cash register. “In the last hour and a half you’ve sold twenty-two children’s books, seven murder mysteries, an old hardback of Pride and Prejudice, three cookbooks, two Astrology books, a book about making home brew beer, a biography of Henry VIII, a book about cats, five of my caps, and three of my neck-warmers.”
“Good work, Diana,” he says, taking one of her caps out of the cardboard box and trying it on. “How do I look?”
“Gorgeous,” she says, bursting into tears.
“What a difficult time you’ve been having,” he says, gently putting his arms around her. “Crying is good.”
Wonderful news! The audio version of my new book The Dog Who Wanted A Person aired on January 14 on our local community radio station KZYX, streamable from anywhere in the world.
Jamie Roberts presented the first half of the audio book starring yours truly on his long-running show Radiogram. The second half of the saga will air on January 21 at 8 PM PST. And these programs are archived and available at KZYX for a week or so after they air.
In my twenty years of living here in Mendocino and being a KZYX listener and supporter, I’ve rarely been able to convince any DJ at that station to play my/our music. But Jamie plays my short stories regularly on his show and he’s been a big supporter of mine for two decades now, so I’m thrilled he loves The Dog Who Wanted A Person and wants to share the book with his audience.
The audio book of The Dog Who Wanted A Person, in which I play all the parts, is funny, touching, thought-provoking, and did I mention funny? Appropriate for humans of all ages. Even cat lovers love the book, in which there is one groovy cat and several wonderfully talkative dogs, each with a distinct and breed-appropriate accent.
The last time I had the flu was thirty-six years ago. Now I am nearing the end of Day 10 of this flu of 2026 and I am finally starting to feel pretty okay, still easily tired and not about to run a mile or even twenty yards.
Speaking of which, I thought I’d celebrate being able to walk around again by taking a stroll to the end of our street and back, a distance of roughly two city blocks. I got about fifty yards from our front gate and felt/thought Okay. That’s enough. Turn back before you keel over. So I did, and I’m glad I did. I usually walk a couple miles a day, so today’s stroll was humbling.
Yes, I got a flu shot this year. Yes, I’m 76. How did I get the flu, I who have not gone out for a meal since before the pandemic? I went out for a meal on Christmas Eve and four days later the flu took hold. Five years I waited to go out for a meal. Silly me. I should have waited six.
This is a nasty bug. I highly recommend you do not get this flu. You will regret it if you get it. Do I recommend you wear a mask when going to the bank or the grocery store or the post office from now on? You bet I do.
The predominant symptom of this flu for me was that sitting up or standing for even a few minutes at a time then necessitated laying down for an hour. My appetite was good throughout. Yay.
This flu, for me, had an arc that went something like this.
Day One: Sore throat, tired, achy, cranky, thirsty. Went to bed at nine.
Day Two: Sorer throat, exhausted, real achy, very thirsty. Went to bed at nine.
Day Three: Sore throat morphing into snot factory in head and totally clogged ears. Cough developing. What did you say? The phone is ringing? No. Profound exhaustion. Thirsty. Went to bed at eight.
Days Four and Five: All symptoms continuing, thinking if this goes on much longer… what? Went to bed at eight.
Day Six: First day with glimpses of maybe things are getting better, but not much. Aching much less. Snot factory begins laying off workers. Did a little writing. Ears still clogged. Cough lessening.
Day Seven: A couple hours of feeling not terrible amidst the napping and drinking water. More writing. Went to bed at nine.
Day Eight: Obvious improvement without feeling particularly good. Still need to lie down frequently especially in the afternoon. Major accomplishment: doing the dishes, played a little piano. Went to bed at nine.
Day Nine: Continuing improvement. Still tire easily. Three good naps. Major accomplishments: cooking supper, doing dishes. Went to bed at ten!
Day Ten: Quasi-normal. Some actual energy. Made breakfast for Marcia and guest. Started the fire in the woodstove. Chopped a little kindling. Got a wheelbarrow full of firewood moved to the wood box. Tried to take the aforementioned walk. Couple hours of writing. Lay down a few times throughout the day. Reminding myself not to overdo things or even do things.
This is my report. I spared you much of the horror, believe me. I look forward to being fully recovered by the time I write my next blog post.
Stay well, wear a mask, and pray for the end of tyranny.
Hello Dear Reader. We just hung up our two new wall calendars, one in the kitchen and one in my office. Next trip to town I’ll buy a tide chart for the year ahead to mark big minus tides occurring at good times to go walking on the beach, and then a little piece of the pattern of my future life will be on the puzzle board, so to speak.
We recently lived through a four-day power outage and are bracing for another possible outage in the next few days. We live in a part of the state where PG&E steadfastly refuses to bury their power lines in order to maximize short-term profits, and so heavy winds and/or heavy rain almost always brings outages. Such is reality in a capitalist society controlled by corporate monopolies whose operators do not give a hoot about people and only care about a profitable bottom line. Fortunately, we have a woodstove to keep us warm and cook on, and a noisy little generator to keep the refrigerator cold.
Speaking of corporate monopolies who don’t give a hoot about people, the beautiful illustrated paperback of my new book The Dog Who Wanted A Person was not available from Amazon for all of December, which is disappointing since more than half the books sold in America are bought from Amazon. Good news is the book is NOW available at Amazon and is also available from Barnes & Noble, Bookshop, Alibris, and many other book sources, including actual bookstores, including (last I checked) Gallery Books in Mendocino that actually had one copy on hand at the store!
I’ve heard from several people who love the book AND from people loving the audio version starring yours truly (available from Audible.)
Here are a few recent responses I’ve gotten.
I read The Dog Who Wanted A Person today and I enjoyed it so much. It was funny and sweet, and I cried too. I felt that I was on that journey with them. In so few words you brought the land and the dogs’ personalities alive. I’ll be sending it to my son and daughter-in-law who will love it. Jenna
Each character in your book, I am transported—Sterling Holloway, all those enchanting Disney animations…your reading is brilliant, a one-man-show! Wen
Thank you for brightening my holidays with The Dog Who Wanted A Person. I’m looking forward to listening to your narration. Jim
In other news, the terribly selfish greedy violent people who have taken over our national government continue to wreak havoc on the lives of millions of people in America and abroad, and every day we hear of new and dastardly plans they have to get rid of voting by mail and suppressing voters’ rights however they can so they’ll win the midterm elections. Remain vigilant. Help make every honest vote count.
